Dragon Age: Shorts
by Cybrind
Summary: Every so often, I get a nibble from a plot bunny. Not enough for a full story, not even enough for a one shot, but the idea won't go away until I do something with it… so here are my DA short shorts.
1. Hawklings

AN: Not sure what inspired this, but just as quick as the idea hit me, it left.. shame really cuz little hawkes could be fun.

* * *

**Hawklings**

The dimly lit room is barely warmed by the low burning fire in the fireplace. Occasional whistles circle the room as blasts of chilled air seep through the cracks in the walls. Standing at the foot of the bed on his tip-toes is a 5 year old boy, black mop of messy hair, large expressive blue eyes red rimmed from tears peering across in hopes of a glimpse of his mother. "Momma?" His voice is barely a whisper. The room is quiet for the first time in hours. He trembles in fear for her safety. There was a lot of crying, screaming and the blood. The room still reeks of it.

Malcolm Hawke strides in wiping his hands dry with a towel, pausing to watch his son curiously. Garrett drops from his toes and inches around to the corner still whispering for his mother with a shaky voice. "Momma?" Gripping the bed he looks over his shoulder to see where his father has gone off to and cries out in shock. "Da!"

Wide eyed Garrett stares at his father pressing his back into the bed as if to make his escape. Malcolm smiles calmly at him, "Mother is resting, Garrett."

His tiny hands fly to his mouth to keep from crying and waking his mother, he looks from his father covered in blood to where his mother is said to be sleeping. Tears start anew as Garrett continues to back away from his father and closer to his mother. Malcolm takes a step closer causing the boy to whimper in fear. He stops and looks at his son, "What's wrong?"

"Momma?" Garrett chokes the word out and is rewarded with a soft grunting noise from the bed. He spins around in desperation and races the few feet to where Leandra's head should be. "Momma?" Hope tinges his voice, lifting himself on his toes to see for himself that she is truly there.

Leandra's tousled hair is brushed back with a slow sweep, every motion is labored. Her eyes struggle to stay open and focus on the frightened boy and she smiles weakly, "Garrett…" Her voice is hoarse from stress and she winces. "Malcolm, please…"

Malcolm kneels beside the boy, "Garrett, do you know what happened last night?" Garrett spins around bumping his head against the elevated boxed bed hissing. Malcolm reaches for him and he flinches whimpering. "It was the babies, Garrett. Remember the babies in your mother's belly? I told you they would be coming soon. Last night they were born and that is what caused your mother a great deal of pain."

"The babies hurt Momma?" Garrett's wide eyes search his father's face for confirmation and he leaps into his father's embrace when Malcolm nods. "I sorry, Da." Malcolm coos to the trembling boy, rubbing his back trying to calm him. "I thought…"

Kissing the top of his head, Malcolm continues to rub his son's back, "I would never hurt anyone in this family. You are my world, you're everything to me." Garrett squeezes tighter, clinging to him. Malcolm looks over at the bed and smiles at Leandra, "Come son, let's get some food in you so they can rest."

**-x- oo -x-**

His head tilts to the side showing his confusion. Garrett tentatively reaches out a finger and pokes at the slumbering blob of flesh. It is soft to the touch and squirms as his father cradles it in his arm. Hesitantly, the boy pokes again only harder, this time the blob emits a squawk which causes him to giggle. "It's funny." Eyes sparkling with intrigue and mischief, he looks up at his father with a big grin.

"_It_ is your sister and you'd do well to be a bit gentler with her." Malcolm caresses his son's head with his free hand, brushing back his unruly black mop of hair. "I'm counting on you, Garrett. You're going to help me watch over your siblings. You're the big brother. It is your duty to see to their well being."

Big blue eyes stare innocently up at his father. "Okay."

"Malcolm, he's just a baby. He has no idea what you're talking about." Leandra's exhausted voice drifts from the bed to them.

"He understands more than you give him credit for. Besides, he's not a baby." Garrett grins up at his father as Leandra harrumphs quietly. Malcolm gently scoops up his first born setting him on his knee. "Can you say Bethany?"

Garrett nods eager to please, "Betny."

Malcolm tries again pronouncing it slower the second time, "Beth-ah-nee."

Staring at him with uncertainty wavering in his eyes, Garrett screws up his face in deep concentration trying to pronounce the name as his father did, "Betny!"

Malcolm's chuckle comes from deep within him giving a warm friendly sound earning him a coo from Bethany. "Close enough." He motions towards the other baby in Leandra's arms with a nod, "That is your brother, Carver."

Garrett repeats the name slowly, "Cah-beh?"

"Car-ver… Carver…" Malcolm's calm voice prompts him, "Try again."

Groaning Garrett buries his face in Malcolm's shirt pouting. "Why did you gib dem names I can't say?"

"Your mother likes the name Bethany," Malcolm grins, "and Carver is named after someone important."

He looks from one twin to the other and back trying their names again. With each attempt Garrett's voice rises in volume. "Betny and Cahbeh, Betny and Cahbeh," soon turning into a sing-song tone as he claps and bounces on his father's knee, "Betny and Cahbeh, Betny and Cah-"

"Garrett, darling, please…" Leandra smiles sleepily from her bed.

Slapping his hands over his mouth, Garrett stares wide eyed at his exhausted mother, mumbling out an apology from behind his hands.

Malcolm slips the boy off his lap to lay Bethany in the crib. Gently scooping Carter up in his arms, he kisses his son and sets him down as well. "Come, son, we should let them rest." Carrying his oldest child out of the bedroom, Garrett peeks over his father's shoulder and waves to his family.

**-x- oo -x-**

"He bit me!" Garrett stares stunned at the toddler. He backs quickly as Carver wobbles forward on unsteady legs. "Mommy, Carver bit me!"

Carver plops on his behind, grins and reaches for Garrett, little hands opening and closing trying to grasp at something to pull him closer. "Gah!"

"No! Bad Carver, bad!" Garrett holds his hand away from Carver pouting causing Carver to giggle gleefully clapping his hands.

Leandra has her hands full when she enters the room. Bethany squirms and reaches for Garrett, repeatedly blurting out nonsensical 'gah's'. "What is it, dear?" She sets Bethany on the floor with the boys and sits on a low stool with an exhausted sigh.

Garrett growls at Carver before plowing head first into Leandra. "Carver bit me!"

Slightly winded she pulls Garrett into her embrace, looking at the offending arm. "What did you do to Carver?"

Tear filled eyes look up at her, "Nothing."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to-"

He pulls abruptly away, his look hardens and his bottom lip protrudes. "He did. He meant to and he did it." He holds his arm out to her, bite mark evident on his pale skin. "Mommy, he _bit_ me."

"Garrett," Malcolm's deep stern voice cuts through every sound in the house; the babbling toddlers, the petulant child and the exhausted mother, "take Bethany and Carver to the bedroom, I need to speak with your mother." He notes the annoyed look on Garrett's face and smirks, "please."

Deflated, Garrett relents, "Yes, ser." Hoisting up his sister, he glares at his little brother and points to the room, "Come on, Carver."

"Gah!" Carver reaches for Garrett eagerly to which Garrett skirts around him clumsily with his squirming burden.

Within the bedroom Garrett gently sets his sister in her makeshift crib, kissing her forehead before she flops down and stares up at him. "G'night, Bet."

Bethany gives Garrett a toothy grin and grabs her favorite blanket before curling up with it. Laying on her side she absently picks at a loose string, a finger firmly planted in her mouth and hums softly.

Garrett looks around for Carver and sighs heavily noting his absence. Quietly he goes in search for the missing toddler, hesitating at the doorway. He hisses at him, "Carver!"

Carver hadn't gotten very far before he was distracted by his own shadow. Patting the shadow while babbling nonsensical at it, he didn't hear Garrett calling to him. Garrett peeks out at his parents seeing they're in a whispered conversation. He darts out of the room on his short legs that betray him and entangle causing him to bowl over the toddler and tumble to a stop with a groan. Carver rests on his chest with a triumphant slobbering grin, "Gah," patting his cheek harshly with an open palm slap.

"Stop, Carver." Garrett growls, scrambling out from under his brother to gain his feet and leave the room undetected. Carver rolls undeterred to the ground, scampers to his hands and knees grabbing at Garrett's leggings. With a grunt, Garrett helps Carver to stand and wraps his arms around the boy to lift him bodily and drag him to the bedroom all the while his brother babbles and affectionately 'pats' him.

At the bedroom door a heart wrenching gasp from his mother sends a cold chill down the boy's spine. Garrett pauses and looking back at his parents. Leandra weeps in Malcolm's arms as he solemnly consoles her. The boy's voice is low, half speaking to his self, half speaking to his brother. "We're moving again."

**-x- oo -x-**

"Garrett!" Leandra's singsong voice calls from the other room.

He pauses with a groan. He was so close to freedom. His hand is on the door handle. "Yes, Mother?"

"Take your brother with you." She reminds him.

"Mother…" He says with a groan. Garrett leans his head against the door. "Do I have to?"

"Be a dear and take him with you." Leandra watches her teen-aged son from the kitchen doorway. She marvels at how much he's matured over the years. Her arms are crossed before her, a stern look on her face as she scolds her eldest. "Besides, if you want to go out, you must take him with you."

"Yes, Mother." Garrett bats his baby blues at his mother and grins at her. She smiles back and nods at their room. He sighs heavily and retreats back into their bedroom.

"Carver, put your shoes on." Standing at the door way he stares at the twins. "Grab your gear, we're going out."

Bethany looks up from her drawing and smiles warmly. "Can I come?"

Garrett winces, "Sorry, Bet, not this time."

Bethany's smile doesn't falter, but her eyes show a brief moment of hurt. "Oh, okay."

"We're going in the woods today, Bet. It isn't safe for you out there." He kneels beside her and takes her hand in his. "We won't be gone long and then we'll go outside. You and me, okay?"

Bethany can't meet his gaze, she can't speak. She simply nods.

"You'll probably be safer where I can keep an eye on you." Garrett sighs. "Come on, Bethany, let's go."

The three walk towards the door, "Mother, we'll be back before dark."

Leandra's smile wanes. "Bethany?"

Bethany waves and smiles, "I'll be fine, Mother. Garrett will take care of me!"

Having made their escape, the three walk down the path in quiet expectation until Carver breaks the silence, "So what are we doing?"

"Nothing much; checking traps, a bit of fishing, herbing and…" Garrett grins as she pokes her head out from behind a tree.

Mari's smile falters noting his siblings, "Hi." She smiles up at Garrett when he pulls her in to his arms. She snakes her hands around his neck and lifts her lips to him in offering. "Mmmm… why Garrett Hawke, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me."

Garrett laughs. "Now what makes you think that?" He dips his head and captures her lips in a clumsy, eager kiss full of tongue and teasing.

Carver makes some rude gagging noises. Bethany gasps before turning away. "Really, Brother, that isn't something I need to see."

Garrett takes Mari's hand and laughs at the twins. "Give it a few years, Carver, you'll change your mind." He looks at Bethany and shakes his head. "You are never to change your mind, Bethany. You should stay innocent forever. That will make my life much easier."

Mari laughs and smacks his arm. "Garrett!"

His arm snakes around her waist. "It's true." He nods towards the woods. "Come on, we have work to do or Mother will get suspicious or worse, if Father catches wind of these outings they will end, I'm sure."


	2. Templar

A/N: My all time favorite Templar will always be Cullen. Someone once wrote a story that briefly referenced his training and it nudged my brain to wonder what it would be like for him or any templar really .. training and learning and sparring and ... well you get the picture I'm sure.

* * *

**Templar**

There is a hint of a breeze that ruffles the bits of hair at my neck peeking out of the bottom of my helm, cooling me ever so slightly with a tease of respite from the relentless golden sun rising ever higher in the clear blue sky. Standing alone against my opponents in the training circle, my feet shuffle across the red-orange hard packed clay, or is it dirt? The stone walls of the Chantry stand to my right. The stone walls of the barracks stand to my left. The armory is behind me and the stable is before me.

I raise my shield. My practice shield is a standard kite, large and unwielding. It is plain dull metal with a leather strap yet it is my current weapon of choice. With a practice sword in my right hand, I adjust my grip nervously. I am to be tested. No quarter shall be given.

Five stand around the circle. Shield in one hand, sword in the other, helms of plate and armor to match. Faceless enemies, nameless opponents. Each I must face. Each I must conquer. Slowly I turn within the circle. Their mere presence taunts me. They can sense my apprehension. They can sense my fear.

Sword pounded to his chest in a salute. He cries out. My first opponent has made himself known. He's shorter than I am, by a few inches, my reach will be greater and to my advantage. He wields his sword with ease, swinging it and testing the balance, perhaps simply to distract me.

Crouching in his battle stance, he moves towards my right, circling along with me. I can hear his snarls, I can hear his growls. I can smell the dust his feet kick up as the dance begins. He watches for a weakness, he waits for an opening. He will find no weakness and he will be forced to create an opening.

"Maker, my enemies are abundant." My brows furrow unseen under my helm. "Many are those who rise up against me." I tighten my grip on my sword. "But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion." I take my fighting stance. "Should they set themselves against me."

With a war cry wrenched from my very soul, I charge him. I slam my shield against his chest. He teeters yet doesn't fall. He grunts and comes at me. I take the brunt of his swing with my shield, pushing back against his momentum. I bring my sword around under his guard and connect with his side. Point for me.

Sweat trickles down my spine, yet his frustrated cry chills me. My shield hand is my weak side, therefore it is important to train that much harder with it. I cannot falter. Hissing, I take a hit to my right. A lesson learned, concentrating too much on one weakens the other. Point for him.

I go on the offensive, risky but necessary. He has evened the score and I have others to engage in battle yet. It is rude to keep them waiting. The sun continues its rise, the heat of the day is only beginning. Shadows dance with us. Once again I move to strike with my shield yet he anticipates it. I knew he would. I hoped he would. I counted on it.

Falling for the same move twice is unwise. He sways out of the way of what he thought I had intended. I bring my elbow around connecting with his helm. He staggers and shakes his head. Sword point jabs dully at his breast plate at the lower abdomen area. Point for me.

Frustrated, he drops his stance. With a quick salute I dismiss him. His shoulders drop and he leaves knowing he has been defeated. I can hear the clang of metal as he drops his gear. Curiosity gets the best of me and I chance a glance. Carroll stands outside the ring running his fingers through his short brown hair.

Four stand around the circle. They are more cautious. I'm not the easy prey they believed me to be. This is good and well... not so good. Those remaining will not be as careless as the first. Carroll underestimated my ability. These won't.

Another steps forward with a quick salute. Not much time to catch my breath. I didn't expect it, though a moment would have been welcome. He takes his stance and circles along with me. His grip on his sword is easy, almost intimate.

With my sword I tap at his shield. I don't expect much of a reaction and am not disappointed when my prod is easily deflected. My breathing is quickly becoming labored. Plate armor glinting in the bright sunshine, my brain feels as if it is baking within my helm. Sweat leaves a sheen of wetness on every inch of my body. I swing again at his shield side this time with a bit more force. Again it is deflected.

We circle slowly. This one is taller than I am, and is quite familiar with his sword. He swings it a few times and charges. With a bit of luck I move out of the way just in time. His sword glances off my shield. My arm is still trembling from the impact. He moves to turn and deflects my swing yet not with his shield. No this time with his sword. He flicks my sword away as if it were merely a troublesome stick and swings with his sword. Point for him.

This man is strong. Stronger than the last. More assured, skilled and hungry. I slow my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the-

With a grunt he comes again. I'm watching his body as it turns ever so slightly telling of the direction of his movements. My shield meets his swing. Through gritted teeth I growl and push him back. I manage to deflect and not merely by luck. A swing of my sword and a point for me.

The score is even and the desperation is swallowed. I will persevere. I must.

****


	3. Regrets?

A/N: Two of my personal favorite pairings aren't available but in my feeble mind, they should be! Not sure where this bunny came from or where he thought he was going but he went no where fast.

* * *

**Regrets?**

"Just tell me on thing then. Is the Champion dead?" Her eyes search his face for a glimmer of hope.

"Oh, I doubt that…" Varric's lip curls into a small knowing grin.

"Then you are free to go, Varric. May the Maker watch over you in the dark times ahead of us." The Seeker turns on her heel and heads for the door. Varric's words follow her.

"Same to you, Seeker." He shakes his weary head, "Same to you…" Sitting alone in the only light available, Varric listens for the door to close. He's surrounded by the darkness, breathing the stale dusty air in what was once the Amell-Hawke mansion. His only comfort is the creaks of the abandoned home, the dim candle light beside him and he smiles. "Hello, Sunshine."

From the shadows behind him comes a soft giggle. "Hello, Varric."

"Weren't you supposed to wait with your sister?" His eyebrow rises with a whimsical quirk.

Bethany saunters into the dim light. Her hand runs nonchalantly from one of his shoulders to the other as she makes her way around him. Delicate fingers trace along his jaw to his chin, tilting his head back with a single finger. "Who do you think brought me here safely? You don't really think I'd make it across Kirkwall all by my little lonesome, do you?" She bats her eyes sweetly. "Weak little mage, in a big bad city, alone, vulnerable."******  
**  
"You're many things, Sunshine. Weak is not one of them." Varric's eyes dance with amusement. "It's been a long time since I last saw you."

"Mmmm…" Bethany brushes a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth before standing. "Why did you make me wait then?"

"It took them three weeks to find me waiting in plain sight. I made sure _everyone_ knew I was back in my old room at the Hanged Man." He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture.

She giggles at him, slowly tugging the zipper down exposing her milky white skin. Varric sits back calmly watching, until Bethany stops midway. "Three long, lonely weeks." He interjects.

Bethany purrs, "And yet you managed to tear yourself away from me in the first place."  
******  
**Varric's grin broadens, "It is a mystery of the ages." He holds his arms open. She easily slips onto his lap and into his embrace. He buries his face in her bosoms and murmurs, "A mystery I endeavor to unravel. In due time."

Her voice is breathless and thick, "You're quite skilled at creating mysteries." Her hands work their way down his chest making quick work of his buttons. Bethany runs her fingers through his soft chest hair. "You're even more skilled at unraveling me."

"Mmm, yes I would call that quite an accomplishment." His eyes close with a moan lingering on his parted lips.

"I give credit where credit is due, Varric. It isn't simply your use of that clever tongue of yours." They both pause as if frozen in time, listening to the dark silence. When moments pass and nothing is amiss, Bethany moves to kiss him.

"Sunshine, where is Hawke anyway?" Varric peers into the darkness unwilling to dismiss the sudden noise they had heard as easily as Bethany has.

"To see an old friend," Bethany eases out of her robe earning her a moan of gratitude. "I don't expect she will be back before morning at the earliest."  
******  
**

**-x- oo -x-**

As if Chantry directives aren't bad enough, now there are Seekers casing the city questioning anyone with even the smallest hint of an association with the Champion, former Viscount. Complaints, concerns, orders, requests…

He drops the papers on his desk, pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. A gentle breeze brushes past carrying the scent of lilies easing his furrowed brow. A small tired smile tugs at his lips as a memory toys with him. "I hardly think now is a safe time for a visit."

"You're not happy to see me?" She teases. "I could just go if that's the case."

"You've come all this way, went through the trouble to get here, I would be remiss to ask you to leave so soon." He turns in his seat and smiles at her.

"Hello, Knight Commander." Hawke sits in the open window, one leg propped on the sill, the other dangling freely out the window. Her once short black hair has grown to her shoulders, blows about her face courtesy of the gentle breeze. Her dark leather armor conforms to her shape accenting her curves. Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief and promise.

"Hello, Champion." Cullen rises from his chair joins her at the window leaning a hip against the sill facing her. "It really isn't safe for you here and as pleased as I am to see you, perhaps it would be best if you left."

"I already know about the Seekers. Varric is being questioned now at my…" Hawke bites her lip, "at the old estate." She holds out a package. "Besides, I brought you something."

Cullen pulls the bottle from the wrapping, "Antivan brandy." He chuckles softly, "a reminder of better times?" He walks across his office to the credenza to pour two glasses.

"They weren't all bad, were they?" Hawke watches him move, her eyes roaming over his broad shoulders, narrow waist all hidden in plate armor and that blasted skirt that covers him too well.

"Not all, no. I would hope that the good we did for Kirkwall is considered… well, good." He shrugs a shoulder. "Regrets?"

Hawke drops her gaze. "I confess. I do have one regret."

"Only one?" He brings the glasses back to the window handing her one. He takes a drink and closes his eyes, "mmm, smooth."

"Yes, well several regrets maybe but one that I hope to correct." Hawke nurses the tumbler before taking a small sip. She stares intently at the golden liquid within while it burns warmly down her chest. "Cullen, do you ever… think…"

"Hmmm…" His voice is almost distant, thoughtful with a hint of a smile. "Think of… you? Think of… us? Think of… what could have been? Should have been?" Cullen takes her chin in his hand, lifting her face to meet her eyes. "Yes."


End file.
